For the Folk of the Great Wood
by Ms Whatsit
Summary: A tale of Mirkwood Elves, from the arrival of Gollum in their wood to the departure of the Fellowship. WIP.
1. In the Company of Wood Elves

                                                  Chapter I: In the Company of Wood-elves

                                      _"…Yet whatever is still to do, I hope to have a part in it, for the honor of the folk of the __Lonely__Mountain__." _

_                                     "And I for the folk of the Great Wood," said Legolas…_

                                                                                            -J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King.

The trees were laughing at him. 

Aragorn felt their leers, cool and ice-black and malicious, and suppressed a shiver. 

"We don't like the scary forest, no, we don't, precious," said the creature at the end of the rope the Man clutched in his scarred hand. "Scary forest doesn't like us. And scary forest has scary, nasty spiders, yes, it does, precious. And Orcs, and nasty Elves." Aragorn was inclined to agree with the wretch. _Taur e-Ndaedelos _well deserved its name. He glanced nervously into the trees, hand on his sword hilt, although a sword was of little use here. He needed a quick, light weapon that he could draw and maneuver easily. His knife would suffice, perhaps, though it was not as sharp as his sword and he was less skilled in its use.

 Truth be told, he had few skills that were any good in this lightless realm, where monstrous spiders lurked, unseen until too late, and the very leaves seemed to have taken a personal dislike to him. 

"We're so hungry, precious," squeaked Gollum. "And so very tired, yes, since nasty Man did not let us sleep or eat. Can you not give us something to eat now? Or let us sleep, precious, yes, sleep." 

"You have only yourself to blame for your condition," said Aragorn shortly. "Had you behaved I would not have had to starve you or drive you hard to tame you." 

"Nasty, cruel, horrible Man!" And the creature wheeled round on his rope, jumped up and sank his teeth into Aragorn's arm, adding yet another bite to the collection already accumulated by the Man. Aragorn cursed and struck Gollum down. 

"Sméagol is hungry, so hungry and so sleepy," sobbed Gollum. 

Aragorn sighed and tried to ignore him, knowing that the creature would go on in this fashion for some time. Yet no matter where his thoughts led him, it was always someplace unpleasant. The stabbing pain in his arm. His own weariness and near starvation. The worry and the heartache that lay just underneath the physical pain, pain for which he was almost grateful because it kept his mind from troubles of a more subtle sort. And the trees, always the trees, watching, taunting, telling each other dusky secrets that were known to none else. 

Except for the Elves of this wood, of course, but that was yet another nuisance. 

Moriquendi. Silvan folk but without the fair guardianship of the Lady Galadriel.  The Mirkwood Elves were rustic and dangerous, wise in wood-lore but little else, feral warriors who had none of the arts of their higher kindred. They were still Elves, it was true, and a good and worthy people. Aragorn knew this. And yet he who was accustomed to Rivendell could not help his unease in their realm. 

Thranduil, of course, was Sindarin and therefore of the Eldar. But that was little comfort. The fierce and fell Elven-king, like his father Oropher before him, kept his face turned from the Light and preferred the wild ways of the Avari to the high art of the Noldor. Yet he was loved and revered by his subjects, and commanded a grudging esteem from the rest of Elvendom. 'Thranduil the Stiff-necked,' Elrond had called him. Arwen's father had spoken of Mirkwood's lord with little liking, yet not without sincere respect. And Aragorn, when he had spoken to Thranduil before capturing Gollum to ask if the creature could be held prisoner in the Wood, had developed that same feeling towards the Elven-king.  

Still, he wished himself out of Thranduil's realm as soon as possible. 

"Nasty spiders, will jump out at us and surprise us and then gobble us up, chomp, chomp, yes, _gollum, gollum_, we thinks we hears the spiders now…" Without thinking Aragorn looked up and scanned the branches overhead, strained his eyes to search the dark mire of wood and leaf. He saw nothing. Wearily he stumbled on. He tried to keep alert, yet noticed nothing save the trickle of sniveling words from Gollum, the rough rope in one hand, the sword hilt pressed against the other, and the trees, always the trees. And then suddenly he and Gollum were no longer alone. 

They were surrounded by Elves armed with light bows. Aragorn drew his sword instinctively and whirled round in his place, yet wherever he looked he saw an Elf training a sharp arrow and sharper gaze on him and his captive.  

"Who are you?" demanded one Elf, stepping out of the circle. "By what right do you keep this poor wretch captive, and why do you and he trespass in our realm?" 

"Nasty Man is so cruel to poor Sméagol. Will kind Elves help us? We'll be ever so good if they does, yes, _gollum, gollum,_" said Gollum. Aragorn jerked on the rope to silence him. 

"I do not trespass," said the Man. "I am here with the permission of your King. This creature is a servant of Sauron, whom I have captured at the behest of Mithrandir, and King Thranduil has consented to keep him as prisoner in your realm." 

The Elf gave Aragorn a skeptical look. He turned to his companions and spoke in lilting Silvan speech that Aragorn could not understand. Then he turned back to the Ranger and said, 

"You will sheathe your sword and come with us. We will take you to our lord, and there we shall see if your tale is true." Aragorn slowly obeyed, sliding his sword back into its sheath and tightening his grip on Gollum's rope. They walked on, Aragorn and Gollum surrounded by the vigilant Mirkwood warriors. These Elves were dark of hair and eye. They were duller of complexion and lesser in height than the Elves of Imladris, and yet for all that they seemed perilous. Aragorn felt that he would not like to meet them in combat. 

After what seemed like hours they reached the stone caverns where the Elven-king and his family dwelt. The Elf who had spoken earlier took council with some of his companions, in the fluid and unstructured tongue they had used before. Aragorn tried to understand what they said, but their speech was too rapid and the tongue too different from Sindarin. They seemed to be arguing about something. 

A tall Elf, lighter in coloring than the other Wood-elves and with the air of one of the Eldar, came out from the cavern. The arguing Elves looked at him in startled relief.  They spoke to him in the Silvan tongue, and when they were finished he turned to Aragorn. 

"_Mae govannen,_" said the Elf, fixing a keen green-eyed stare on the Ranger. "So you are the Ranger Aragorn son of Arathorn, and this is Sméagol whom you wish us to keep."  

"Yes," said Aragorn, relieved to meet someone who knew the truth of his tale. This Elf had an easy manner and a gentle voice, and the Ranger began to relax. 

"I am Legolas Thranduilion," said the Elf, and indeed his Eldarin look and resemblance to Thranduil marked him as one of the house of the Elven-king. "Take the poor creature away, and feed him and let him rest," said Legolas, and two Elves came forward to take Gollum from Aragorn. "As for you, Aragorn, come inside, and rest and heal and refresh yourself ere you meet our lord." 

"I cannot tarry long," began Aragorn, anxious to leave the Woodland Realm as soon as he could. Legolas, however, cut him off. 

"The King will wish to speak with you," said the Elf, and though his voice was soft it carried a note of finality. Legolas spoke to another Elf in Silvan, and then gestured for Aragorn to follow him. Wearily Aragorn obeyed; he was in the realm of the Elven-king and could not hope to defy him. He followed Legolas and the other Elf into a winding tunnel, cool and silver-gray, with teasing hints of carvings on the walls. As they walked further inwards jewels began to speckle the walls and ceilings, winking star-like out of the stone. 

Legolas showed Aragorn into a spacious and airy room, and then left him in the care of Bardil, the other Elf. Bardil took him first to a healing-woman to mend his torn arms and then to a place to bathe. Gratefully Aragorn did so, although midway through his bath he heard a tittering noise and when he turned his head he saw three elf-maidens leap from the tops of the pillars of the bathing-room. The maidens chattered amongst themselves, and Aragorn thought that one of the words they said meant 'ugly,' though he was uncertain. They looked at him, holding his eyes with their bold stares, and then fled amidst a cloud of giggles. 

Aragorn shook his head. He would not have imagined Elves of any kind to be capable of such impropriety. Or perhaps this was a custom among Wood-elves, for the males and the females to use the same bathing-room, and look on each other unabashed? The thought unnerved him. He sprang out of the water and hastily dried and dressed himself. 

On returning to his room he found that someone had left food for him. He ate eagerly, and just as he was finishing he heard a knock on the door. It was Bardil. 

"I am come to take you to King Thranduil," he said, and gestured for Aragorn to precede him out of the room. 

Aragorn took a deep breath. The Elven-king had agreed earlier to keep Gollum; his son had been fairly welcoming; he, Aragorn, had done nothing wrong, and any nervousness was foolish. He would speak with Thranduil and then leave, and all would be as it had been before. Squaring his shoulders, he walked out the door. 

TBC

_Taur e-Ndaedelos_- Elvish name for Mirkwood, literally "forest of great fear." 


	2. The New Prisoner

Disclaimer: All Tolkien's, except the odd OC. 

Chapter II: The New Prisoner

Legolas laughed silently as Aragorn stumbled out of Thranduil's private study, looking as though he had narrowly escaped a spider's poisoned net. The Man trudged off in the direction of his chamber, not noticing the Elf who stood not an arm's length away.  Legolas cast an amused glance after him before slipping into the Elven-king's study.

"You sent for me, my lord?" 

 Thranduil had been staring down at his desk absently and started at the unexpected sound. 

"Be seated, my son," he said. Legolas obeyed, wondering at the grave look on his father's face. Thranduil remained oddly silent for some time, his long white fingers playing with a jewel-handled knife that lay on his desk. 

Finally he spoke. 

"Did Mithrandir speak to the creature?" he asked. The Istar had arrived very shortly before Aragorn did, and had expressed a desire to talk with Mirkwood's new prisoner.  

"Yes," said Legolas. "He had long speech with the poor wretch, though I do not know if he learned aught. Sméagol was defiant, and unwilling to speak with him." 

"Sméagol? Is that its name? Mithrandir called it Gollum." 

"Sméagol was his true name," said Legolas. "Gollum is the name he is called now, because of the sound he makes with his throat. But he prefers Sméagol, I think." He hesitated for a moment before saying, "I cannot think why he should be such a threat, or indeed what use Sauron would have of him. He seems so wretched, so miserable." 

"So he seemed to me," said Thranduil. "But…" The Elven-king glanced at the door to make sure it was shut before continuing. "But he is dangerous, or so Mithrandir said. I insisted on hearing at least part of the story before agreeing to hold Gollum here, although I would be surprised indeed if Mithrandir has not still kept something back." Legolas smiled; the wizard's close-mouthed nature had greatly annoyed Thranduil in the past. "It sounded fantastic to my own ears, but Gollum…" Thranduil lowered his voice to a near-whisper, and abruptly changed the tongue in which he spoke to pure Sindarin. "Gollum was once in possession of Sauron's One Ring." 

The younger Elf's eyes widened. 

"Is Mithrandir sure of this?" he asked, his voice hushed. 

"As sure as I have ever seen him of anything. And that, knowing Mithrandir as I do, is saying quite a lot," said Thranduil dryly. 

Legolas chuckled. 

"Yet Mithrandir agreed that we should be kind to him, and perhaps take him out of his dark prison once in a while," he said. 

"Yes, of course," said Thranduil. "I would not torment the poor creature. But you must guard him well, Legolas. I called you in here to tell you that. This task is more important to the realm than it seems, perhaps even more important than Mithrandir has hinted to me." 

Legolas frowned. 

"I will make sure his guards are especially reliable, although I do not think we should place the most skilled warriors in such a role," he said. Legolas had spent many years fighting on the realm's borders. He had only recently returned to Mirkwood's stronghold to captain the Home Guard, as many of the border captains had been called home to deal with increased threats to the realm's previously safe center. "But it seems…forgive me, my lord," Legolas said, uncertain of whether to speak his mind or keep silent. 

Thranduil's brow furrowed and he looked curiously at his son. 

"If you have a question, feel free to voice it." 

Legolas drew in a deep breath before speaking.  

"Why is this so important to the realm? We have often helped others in their need, it is true, but you spoke of this as being important to our realm, not an act of friendship towards others. And it seems that no great need is served by our holding this prisoner. If Sméagol once held that which you spoke of, he does not hold it any longer. I suppose if Sméagol escaped, and returned to Sauron, there could be dire results. But that seems quite unlikely, as he is such a useless thing. And…forgive me, but you are not usually so willing to remove warriors from the defense of the realm to serve Mithrandir's purposes." The Elf paused, searching his father's face for an answer. "And yet you speak of the holding of this prisoner as if it were necessary for the safety of the Wood." 

Thranduil smiled. 

"You speak frankly, my son," he said. 

Legolas colored slightly and lowered his eyes. 

"I beg your pardon if my words were disrespectful, my lord," he began, but Thranduil waved a hand and laughed softly.

"Nay, you were right to speak. And you are right when you say that this is an unusual situation. It is true that I have no wish to be Mithrandir's tool, or anyone else's," said the Elven-king, a stern and proud look coming onto his face. "And I will never wish to be so. But from what Mithrandir said, and from what we can observe here in our realm, I sense that times are changing." Thranduil sighed and fingered the knife on his desk again. "The power of Dol Guldur grows, and the threat of Sauron with it. Mithrandir knows much of this, as does Elrond. If they learn aught of this that I cannot learn myself, I wish to know of it. I need to know of it, for the defense of the Wood. And I fear involvement with them may be the price of knowledge." 

Understanding and some indignation appeared on Legolas's face. 

"Yet I am sure they would tell you if they knew aught that concerned the Wood, my lord, even were you not involved in their affairs," he protested. 

"I cannot take that risk," said the Elven-king. "Aside from that, they may not realize that what they learn concerns the Wood, if it does. Or they may simply forget to involve me in their plans, not through malice but through mere habit, as I have not traditionally taken council with them. I have not needed to in the past," Thranduil said heavily. "But now a new menace threatens all of Ennor, and trouble in Imladris or Lorien or the kingdoms of Men may soon become a danger in our realm. I would not be left out of the plans of Elrond and Mithrandir or even my Lorien kinsman and his wife, not if there is information to be gained from them that may help my people." 

"I see," said Legolas. "The prisoner shall be guarded well, naturally, though it is just as well that Mithrandir wishes us to be kind. I do not think any of our guards would have the heart to be too harsh with Sméagol." 

"And it is well that you are not one of the guards, for you would certainly melt at the first plea from the wretch," Thranduil said with a smile. Legolas was often teased for his soft and over-gentle nature, extremely strange in a warrior of the besieged realm; what kept the teasing affectionate rather than contemptuous was his obvious skill. He grinned ruefully at his father's remark. "You may go now, if you wish, for I know you must be weary," said Thranduil. Legolas rose, bowed and stepped lightly out of the Elven-king's study.  

He wandered down the gem-studded corridors until he reached one of the royal bathing rooms, a private one where the heat was as thick and soft as moss and the steam rose from the pool to caress the stone walls and ceiling. Sighing with a comfortable sleepiness, he pulled off his clothes, undid the braids in his hair and slid into the water's warm embrace. He examined the bruises Bardil had left on his arm during their practice session; they were lasting an unusually long time, though that was unsurprising considering Bardil's strength. 

"How did you get those marks?" said a voice that was low, mocking and distinctly feminine. 

Legolas groaned and rolled his eyes. 

"Where are you hiding now, Nimwen? And have you nothing better to do than spying on helpless neri?" 

"Better, perhaps, but not nearly so amusing." Nimwen appeared from behind a pillar. 

"This is supposed to be a _private_ bathing room," he informed the elleth sternly.  

"Yes. Your private bathing room. Therefore, if one wished to surprise you, one would only have to hide here and wait, is that not right?" 

Legolas abandoned his pretense at severity and flicked water at Nimwen. She dodged the droplets, but Legolas lunged at her. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the pool, clothes and all, despite her mock-squeals. 

Once in the water, Nimwen pretended to look Legolas up and down appraisingly. 

"You are growing soft, my friend," she said, pursing her lips and shaking her head. 

"Indeed?" asked Legolas, splashing at her once more. "I think you should look to yourself, Nimwen. We shall never get you married off." The two Elves had been together often as children, as Nimwen was a distant cousin of the house of Oropher, and such teasing was commonplace for them. There had been some gossip of a match between them long ago. Legolas and Nimwen, however, had both threatened to flee the realm and go to live in Mordor if anyone dared speak of such an idea ever again. 

She grinned back at him and swept a wave of water over him with one swift stroke of her hand. They gave up the water fight soon, collapsing against the walls of the pool. 

"How was your day?" asked Nimwen, her voice slow and lazy. 

"Ordinary," said Legolas. "It is good to be back at home, though. I have not yet grown accustomed to it." 

Nimwen smiled at him. 

"It is pleasant to have you here once more," she said. He smiled back at her, and then her face grew teasing again. "I suffered while you were away, for there is nobody to torment while you are gone." 

"Can you not torment Nendur?" asked Legolas, referring to Nimwen's lover. 

"Oh, I do," she grinned, "but he is too easy to tease. It is like fighting with a rabbit. I have not the heart for it." 

"I am glad I serve a purpose, then," said Legolas wryly. They splashed around for a while longer. 

"Well, I must be off," said Nimwen finally, rising from the pool. "But before I go…" And with startling speed she snatched Legolas's clothes and ran, leaving a trail of mocking laughter behind her. Legolas jumped from the pool and darted after her. He managed to tear his leggings from her grasp, but he could not get the tunic without causing her pain, and she wriggled out of his grip and out the door where he could not follow unclothed.  

"I shall be revenged for this, you know," he said smoothly. Nimwen saw his wicked expression and fled. 

Shaking his head, Legolas shut the door and pulled on his leggings. Through sheer luck, he reached his chambers without anyone seeing him wandering around half-clothed like a lunatic. Tomorrow he would have to choose guards for the new prisoner, and decide exactly what comforts Sméagol would be allowed. And in the back of his mind the conversation with his father still worried at him. But he could think of that later. For now, he would sleep. 

TBC

A/N: Nimwen is Legolas's PLATONIC friend and is involved with another Elf. There will be no Legomancing here. Nimwen herself won't be involved in the real storyline at all. They're a bit flirty, but Legolas is allowed to flirt so long as it's harmless, isn't he?  

_Neri_- elf-men


	3. Sméagol

Disclaimer: All Tolkien's, except for a few random OCs. 

Chapter III: Sméagol 

The walls were of stone. Cool. Gray. Hard, uncompromising. 

Still, it was not bad for a prison. Better than that place. It even looked comforting after that place. That place. Where…he…had his nasty Orcs come and take poor Sméagol, to find out about the precious. It wasn't fair. Nasty Baggins had stolen the precious from poor Sméagol, had taken the precious far, far away and Sméagol would never see it again. 

And even though Sméagol didn't have it, didn't know where Baggins had taken it, the Orcs…the Orcs had…

Sméagol curled up into a ball, every distorted muscle in his body quivering, and whimpered aloud. 

They had all been so nasty, so cruel, that Man and that gray-beard who had pecked at Sméagol with questions until Sméagol felt his head would split in two. The Elves at least had given him food and let him sleep. But his sleep was haunted by specters. They had flint in their eyes, blood trickling from their hands. 

Sméagol's blood, and others' as well. 

_Déagol…precious…Baggins…no, no, no… _

Sméagol pressed his head harder into the ground. His hands twisted together like two writhing insects and his lips smacked together voicelessly in terror too great for sounds. He closed his eyes, hoping to escape into his own world of mercifully black oblivion. But, of course, there was no escape from the shadows. Fluttering shapes, thin as air, sharp and solid as swords. They came for him. They always did, always would. Once he had been able to slip into sweet sightlessness and remember once more the trees and creeks and grass, more like dreams then memories, but that time was long gone. Alone in the dark, in the lonely cave of his mind, the shadows were still there. He was still their captive. 

The door to the storeroom opened and four Elves walked in. Sméagol felt their odd Elven air roll off them like the smell of grass off the earth, felt it hit his skin like a chill puff of wind. He shrank back, turning his face away, muttering to himself. Nasty Elves would hurt poor Sméagol, would ask him questions that he couldn't answer and some that he didn't want to answer. 

But they said nothing to Sméagol, though he could hear them talking to each other and could feel their stares slicing through him. He finally looked up at them. All had that strange pearly skin, that fearsome look in their eyes. Three were dark. One was tawny-haired and taller than the others, and he walked over to Sméagol first. He crouched down before Sméagol, his brown-clad knees coming level with Sméagol's half-raised, curious eyes. He looked familiar, this Elf. Sméagol had seen him before, when the cruel Man had brought him to this place. 

The Elf bent his head to stare at Sméagol, and a braided lock of hair fell over his face. It gleamed in the dull light. Bright and coppery it was, swinging tantalizingly in front of the rosy cream of the Elf's skin.

_…like the dawn's light on the clouds over the creek in spring, like fire, like the precious…_

Sméagol grasped the lock with spidery fingers and pulled down on it hard. 

Looking amused, the Elf tried to pry Sméagol's fingers from the braid. His eyes widened when Sméagol held on, his grip fierce and possessive. He said something to his companions, something Sméagol did not understand. The Elf then firmly took Sméagol's hand and pulled it from his hair, ignoring Sméagol's faint cry of pain at the Elf's steely grasp. 

"Nasty Elf! Sméagol only wants to look at pretty hair, yes, _gollum_, _gollum_…" 

The Elf looked at him, and Sméagol flinched. He had seen that look before, on their faces when they wanted to know about the precious and were going to hurt him to find out…

But the Elf only turned back to the others, and they spoke for some time in that language that Sméagol did not know. It sounded…odd, in a way that made Sméagol shiver. 

Finally the Elf looked at Sméagol again, and Sméagol tensed again under the inquisitive green stare. "Smeagol," he said, and the creature's eyes widened in surprise. It had been so long since anyone had called him by that name. "We will not harm you, so long as you behave well. Your guards shall take you out into our wood to walk, if that seems good to you, so that you shall not have to stay in this darksome hole all your days. But should you try to escape, or give the guards any trouble, you will remain here. Do you understand me?" 

Sméagol wanted to scream at the Elf, to pull all his shiny braids out and claw up the skin on his smooth face until it was covered with red, rich blood. But it was best to cooperate for now, best to let them think him simple. "Oh, yes, we'll be ever so good, yes, _gollum, gollum_, we won't give you any trouble, no, never." 

The Elf raised an eyebrow and turned back to his companions, speaking again in that shivery Elf-talk. Then, as suddenly as they had entered, the Elves left. That strange sense of Elven-ness drained out of the room, and Smeagol was once more alone with the walls and his thoughts. He sank back against a stone wall and began to weep.

**……………………………………………**

Bardil lounged against the side of the door to the caverns, gazing up to watch the sun leave the sky to the moon and the stars. 

"What think you of our new prisoner?" Bardil started and turned around; it was Galendur. 

Bardil shrugged. "He is a miserable enough wretch, and no threat to anybody, it seems," he said. "I cannot think why the King is placing a guard upon him." 

"He is here at Mithrandir's request, I am told," said Galendur. 

"Then we can be sure there is no reason for his imprisonment here that a sensible being could understand," said Bardil acidly. 

Galendur grinned. The Grey Pilgrim's oddities were part of many a Mirkwood tale and song. "At any rate, it is an easy task," he said. 

"Aye, it is. So it is best if you do not question it too closely, my friend," Bardil said with a smile. "Take your rest where you find it."

Galendur laughed. "That I will do," he said, and turned his attention to the sunset. The light furiously hit the dark, spiked tree-tops and for one grand moment all of Mirkwood seemed ablaze; then, just as the glory grew unbearable, it subsided into intimate starlit darkness, and night fell on the Woodland Realm. 

TBC

A/N: This was a very Gollum-y chapter. More Elves in the next one, I promise. 


	4. Seeds of Trouble

Chapter IV: Seeds of Trouble 

"You may roam until you reach the end of the rope, but you will not try to loose yourself if you wish to ever leave the caves again," said Bardil to Gollum, tying the end of a long rope to a tree branch. The other end was tied firmly around Gollum's hands, binding them together.

Gollum scampered away into the woods, and Bardil ran his hand over the tree bark. It was morning, and the Wood was drenched in pale gold light. Each leaf glittered with dew. Bardil drank in the air as if it were wine, each breath heady and intoxicating.

Nearby Galendur leaned against his own tree and smiled. "You breathe as if you have not tasted free air in centuries."

Bardil rested his head on a low branch, feeling the leaves brush his face. "It seems to me as though I have not." He cast an eye out at Gollum, who was playing in some gnarled tree-roots.

Nimlas, the third guard, frowned. "Have you been in the south of late?"

"Yes," said Bardil briefly, his face darkening. A gust of wind ran merrily through the branches over head, singing its wild song. The Elves fell silent to listen, and for a time there was an end to talk and questions. Bardil relaxed once more. The Wood called with the musical voices of each tree, all of them joyful this bright morning, like a triumphant chorus of viols and pipes and flutes. The birds and beasts of the forests were lighthearted this day, and flew and crept and ran without fear. On such a morning a Wood-elf could almost forget that Greenwood the Great was now _Taur e-Ndaedelos_ and why it was so named.

A branch shook over Bardil's head; it was the branch to which Gollum's rope was tied, and the Elf turned sharply to look for the creature. Gollum was trying in vain to grasp a fruit between his teeth, but it was just out of reach. Nimlas ran lightly to Gollum's side. He tore the fruit from its branch and tossed it to the creature. Gollum tried to catch the fruit in his mouth, but he missed. It fell to the ground, rolling in the dirt. "How can we catch the nice fruit if our hands are tied, precious?"

The creature's voice was a shrill whine, and the sharp-eared Elves winced. "You will have to try," said Galendur shortly. "We are certainly not going to untie you."

"We won't run off if you do, we promise, we'll stay right here with the nice Elves, yes, we will," pleaded Gollum, his voice rising even higher, a dissonant note jarring against the wind-song and tree-song.

"You will stay right here because you will remain bound," snapped Galendur. "Your begging will do you no good." He loomed fierce-eyed and menacing over the flap-footed creature. Gollum backed away, muttering to himself and wringing his hands.

Nimlas fixed his curious gaze on Bardil. "What happened in the south?"

"What do you mean?" Bardil's voice was sharp.

"Something happened there that weighs on you heavily—even more heavily than the Shadow usually does on the warriors in the south."

Bardil stiffened; he had hoped his distress was not so clear. Galendur, too, was favoring him with a piercing stare. "Forgive me if I pry," added Nimlas hurriedly. "I know you may not wish to speak of it."

"No," sighed Bardil. "You do not pry. My tale is no different from the tales of many other warriors of the Wood. My dearest friend, my chosen-brother, was slain before my eyes, and my captain sent me back to the stronghold, saying that I should recover from the grief before returning to fight beneath the Shadow."

Silence followed Bardil's words. He sank down to the ground, his back against the tree trunk, and continued to watch Gollum at play, if play it was. Somehow the Wood-elf could not think of this dark-souled beast as 'playing.' He saw Gollum struggle to pick his fruit up from the ground with his teeth; there was something so deeply pathetic about the creature's efforts that Bardil might almost have wept for him.

In one swift and fluid motion, Bardil rose, strode over to Gollum and untied his hands. "Do not think of running away," he warned, shaking a finger in front of Gollum's startled eyes.

"Bardil!" Galendur hissed, coming up behind him. "Do you think this wise?"

"What can he do?" asked Bardil, defensive. He could not explain what had made him feel that sudden surge of pity—nay, more than pity, it had been fellow-feeling. He had felt himself akin to Gollum, and he did not know why. And he was inexplicably glad that Gollum's hands were now free.

"Little enough, but to let him wander without bonds is—Nimlas, what are you doing?" The other Elf was lifting Gollum into a tree so that he could gather fruits with greater ease.

"Do not be so stuffy," said Nimlas, a grin spreading across his face. "He wished to go up into the tree. What harm can it do?"

"We do not know," said Galendur slowly. "I think it is best to be cautious, but if you are determined to let the creature have its way, then so be it."

"We will keep close to him," said Bardil, suddenly feeling guilty now that he had carried out his will. "He shall have no chance to make mischief."

"Let us hope so," said Galendur, his dark eyes fixed on Gollum who was perched precariously on a slender branch.

But Galendur's worries were all for naught, for Gollum was merely his tiresome self that day and gave his guardians no unusual trouble. When morning turned to noon, the Elves brought Gollum back to the stronghold. Once Gollum was returned to his prison, only one guard was needed to stand outside the door to his stone-walled room. Nimlas offered to stay this time, allowing the other two to leave.

"I will go give our report to Legolas," said Bardil.

Galendur frowned. "Are you going to tell him that we untied the creature's hands?"

"If he asks about whether Gollum was bound or not, I will," said Bardil. "Legolas bade us be kind to the wretch," he reminded his companion, "and he said that such was the command of the King as well."

"Hmm," said Galendur, looking dubious. "Well, I must return to my cottage. Perhaps my wife will have our midday meal ready."

After bidding the other Elf goodbye, Bardil walked in the direction of the other side of the caves. He knew Legolas would be around there, although Bardil would have difficulty finding him. Legolas had returned from the south even more recently than Bardil had, and so had a tendency to disappear into the carefree trees that grew around the stronghold of the Wood.

"Legolas?" he called out, when he reached the trees. "My lord? Are you there?" Bardil heard a soft thud in the midst of the trees, and then footsteps coming towards him.

"Bardil?" said the voice of Legolas.

"Yes, it is I." Legolas appeared suddenly out of the shadows, leaves in his hair, a quiver on his back and a strung bow in his hand, for spiders sometimes ventured into the trees near the stronghold.

"Well met," said Legolas with a grin. "How have you enjoyed your morning with our delightful prisoner?"

"I could scarcely bear to tear myself away from him," said Bardil, returning the smile.

"How does he fare?" asked Legolas, becoming serious.

"The trees and the open air seem to do him good," said Bardil.

"Does he give you trouble, or show signs of rebellion?"

"He whines when he cannot have his way," said Bardil. "But he has not defied us yet, nor compelled us to subdue him with force."

"Hmm," said Legolas, his green eyes pensive. "So he has not tried to escape, to creep away unnoticed?"

"No," said Bardil. "He did not even try to go where we could not see him. All he did was walk through the woods, and pick some fruits."

Legolas frowned. "Pick fruits? Were his hands not bound, then?"

Bardil silently cursed his loose tongue. "No," he said reluctantly. "We left his hands loose, but we kept very close to him. He was always within the reach of our arms." Bardil looked anxiously at Legolas; the other Elf looked skeptical, but not angry.

"See that you continue in that manner, then," said Legolas. "If you take him outside unbound, then you _must_ keep close to him at all times. If you do not wish to do that then you must bind his hands."

"Of course, my lord," said Bardil quickly.

"And you are sure that Sméagol never spoke defiantly, or as if he wished or planned to escape?"

"No," said Bardil. "He is not defiant. He is only petulant and ill-tempered."

"Very well," said Legolas. "That will be all, I believe." He smiled suddenly. "I am glad I do not have your task," he said. "I fear the company of that miserable creature would cost me my mind."

Bardil laughed, bid Legolas goodbye and went off, glad to be free of his prisoner for the rest of the day.

Legolas left the trees in the evening, as the sun began to sink from its perch in the sky. He greatly preferred the trees to the caves but it was nearly time for evening meal, which he was expected to share with his family in Thranduil's halls. As he reached the wide entrance to the caves, he heard the clatter of horse hooves on the ground and turned to see a dark-haired elf-woman riding towards him with three warriors behind her. "Lothwen!"

"Good evening, little brother," said Lothwen with a laugh. "I have returned in time for supper, I hope?"

"Yes," said Legolas. "And stop thinking with your stomach. You are as greedy as a dwarf."

"You spend three weeks in Lake-town haggling with Men, and see if you are not thinking with your stomach by the end of it," retorted Lothwen. She dismounted and sister and brother walked into the caves. "What has happened since I left?"

"Naneth is busy tending to three warriors who were badly wounded in a skirmish in the east," said Legolas. "And Adar…Adar has agreed to keep a servant of Sauron prisoner here, under the watch of our warriors, as a favor to Mithrandir and Elrond."

"_What?_"

"That is what I said when I first heard," said Legolas wryly. They had reached his chambers. Legolas murmured a few soft words and the door opened.

"Has all that wine finally gone to Adar's head? Since when does he hire out our warriors to Mithrandir?" Lothwen fiddled with one of her dark braids, looking perplexed.

"The power of Dol Guldur grows, and Sauron threatens more of Ennor than he has in the past," said Legolas slowly. "You know this. Adar seems to think that Mithrandir, Elrond, and perhaps even Celeborn or Galadriel may know something about this that may be useful to us. He has stayed out of their confidences before now, deeming them worthless and keeping his own counsel…but now, I think, he wishes to cooperate with them so that they will be inclined to share any news they have with us."

Lothwen narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "What does he think they know that we do not? What does he fear?"

"Sauron, of course. But more than that, I do not know," said Legolas. "I do not think Adar himself knows."

"Hmm." Lothwen was silent for a moment. Then she asked, "What is this new prisoner like?"

"Very small, and harmless-seeming. He is as small as the _perian_ who came here some years ago."

"Is he akin to the _periannath_?"

"If he is," said Legolas thoughtfully, "then it is in the same way that the _yrch_ are akin to us."

Lothwen shivered. "He must be twisted, then, and evil of mind."

"And miserable," said Legolas. "I almost pity him."

"Let us talk of merrier things," said Lothwen. "What have you been doing since you returned to the south?"

"Nothing very interesting," said Legolas. "Taking reports from Home Guard warriors, inspecting them, listening to Adar fume about whatever attracts his ire…But it is good to see my friends here again. I missed Nimwen and Nendur and the rest of them, while I was away."

"Nimwen!" snorted Lothwen. "How you can stand that pestilential brat, I shall never understand."

"Neither shall I," said Legolas with a groan. "She sneaked in while I was bathing and stole my tunic. I had to run back to my room half-naked, and have been plotting revenge ever since. It is not so funny," he said over Lothwen's peals of laughter.

"It serves you right for having such poor taste in friends," she said. "Though you must let me know when you plan to take your revenge. I would dearly love to see Nimwen bested. But we shall be late for supper if we do not leave now."

"Ah, yes, and that would be a great tragedy, would it not, Lady Dwarf?" Lothwen hit him on the shoulder, and after a small scuffle they left for Thranduil's dining hall.

TBC

Adar—father

Naneth—mother (Thranduil's wife is alive in this universe, mostly because I see no reason why she shouldn't be.)

Perian—hobbit, plural "periannath"

Yrch—Orcs

**A/N:** I've realized that this fic is already OC-heavy and will probably become even more so, as Tolkien told us so very little about Mirkwood Elves. So here's a list of original characters, which I will post at the end of every chapter:

**Bardil: **Gollum's guard, recently returned from the south of Thranduil's realm

**Galendur: **Gollum's guard

**Nimlas:** Gollum's guard

**Lothwen:** sister of Legolas and daughter of Thranduil, recently returned from Lake-town

**Nimwen:** Sindarin Elf, distant relative of the house of Thranduil, friend of Legolas

**Responses to Reviewers: **

**Child of the stars:** Thank you! I'm thinking Gollum will escape in the next chapter—which would take place a couple of weeks after the events of this chapter, probably. We'll see.

**Nimnen****: **Thanks a lot! You made me laugh with your description of the Aragorn Sue fics. I've read so many of those, and that's exactly the kind of thing I was trying to avoid! I'm so glad you liked how I wrote him because he's not a character that comes naturally to me and I had some trouble with him.

**SadieSil****:** Thanks for reviewing—hope you like this chapter!

**Tarawyn****:** Wow, thanks for leaving such a long review. I'm really glad you think I made Aragorn human. I was trying very hard to do that without making him OOC. I'm also glad you like my Gollum, as he's tough to get a grip on. I tend to think of him as being fairly cunning—Legolas says he is, and I don't see how he could have escaped the Mirkwood Elves without being able to fool them into thinking him harmless. You're right that the first three chapters were quite short. They were mostly taken up with scene-setting (which I wanted to keep brief) and I considered making them one long chapter, but decided they'd work better separately. When the real action starts and Gollum escapes and Legolas leaves for Rivendell, the chapters will probably get longer.

Next chapter: Gollum escapes and all hell breaks loose.


	5. Escape

Chapter V: Escape 

Sméagol climbed into the tree, clutching the branches with wiry fingers and toes. Turning his head south, he sniffed the crisp air and nodded to the creature on the branch above him. It was a black squirrel, uncommon in the trees this close to Mirkwood's stronghold, but Sméagol knew they could travel far if need be. The squirrel gave one brief, malevolent squeak before scurrying off into the dense lattice of branches and twigs and leaves.

Sméagol secured his perch in the tree and readied himself. It was time.

:: :: :: :: :: ::

"It looks like an eagle," said Nimlas, pointing at a billowy cloud overhead.

Bardil squinted upwards at the cloud in question, a bright white smear against the blue sheen of the sky. "Nay, it is a dog." He threw a glance at Galendur, who was scowling up at Gollum in the tree. "What do you think the beast will do, Galendur—slay us by throwing acorns at us?" Galendur merely grunted in response.

"It is an eagle, I tell you," insisted Nimlas.

"Have you no eyes in your head? It is a dog!"

"You are both fools," said Galendur with an exasperated smile. "It is a fish." He turned his eyes back to Gollum.

"A _fish_?" Nimlas scoffed. "That, I suppose, is what comes of you fixing your mind on that creature. He talks and talks of raw fishes—perhaps you have fallen under his influence, my friend." Bardil laughed as Nimlas deftly dodged the acorn Galendur flung at him.

"I guard him—as you _should_ be doing, Nimlas." Galendur's glare was formidable, but Nimlas was undaunted.

"Perhaps I should speak to your wife, and tell her that she need not bother cooking your food for you. A raw fish wriggling on your plate will suffice, will it not?"

"If you were as quick to do your duty as you are to exercise your tongue, it would be well," grumbled Galendur without malice. Bardil listened to them needle each other back and forth with a faint smile on his lips. His present task was a pleasant one indeed, allowing him to bask in the open air beneath the trees and listen to his companions' teasing. His lot would have been perfect if his prisoner's plight were less heart-wrenching. Somehow the thought of Gollum made Bardil feel as he had always felt under the rotted trees of southern Mirkwood.

With a shudder, Bardil turned his thoughts and his gaze away from Gollum up in his tree. It was late afternoon; they had brought Gollum out two or three hours after midday, it would soon begin to grow dark, and then they would bring Gollum back to his stony cell.

The afternoon wore on, mellow and soft, and soon it started to silver gently into dusk. "Let us bring him back to the caves," said Galendur. "You! Come down!" He grabbed a branch of Gollum's tree and shook it roughly. "Come down, I say!"

"We don't want to come down yet, no, we don't, _gollum__, gollum_," whined the creature. "We likes the nice tree and the nice forest and we don't want to go back to the nasty caves, no, precious." The last word came out as a hiss, _preciousss_, its grating sibilance making Bardil flinch and step back.

"You will have to," said Galendur. He shook the tree branch harder, which sent Gollum scurrying up to a higher limb. He shook it harder still, and Bardil helped him, but Gollum clung limpet-like to the tree with both hands and feet and would not be shaken. "We shall have to climb up and fetch him," began Galendur, looking highly annoyed, but Nimlas cut him off.

"Why should he not stay here for a while longer? We could easily stay here with him, as the evening is glorious. Or _I_ could stay with him," he amended hurriedly, looking at both of his companions. "You need not, if you do not wish it."

Bardil and Galendur exchanged glances. "We will not leave you alone with him," said Bardil, and Galendur nodded in agreement.

"It would be a lot of bother to drag him down, anyway, and he would bite and scratch and make a nuisance of himself while we did it. We may as well wait for a while."

So the three Elves lingered at the foot of the tree as the blue-grey evening dulled into a moonless night. A hush fell upon the forest, and the air seemed still and tensed.

"Elbereth has abandoned the skies," said Bardil, looking at the inky blackness above.

"Aye," said Galendur with a frown. He glanced up towards Gollum and then threw a quick look around his surroundings. "There is something amiss, though I cannot sense what."

Bardil closed his eyes. At first there was only a deadened silence, void of all sound, and he felt chilled, lost, negated. But finally the tree-song trickled into his ears, soft and timorous. "You are right," he said, opening his eyes. "The trees are uneasy. I cannot tell why."

"I sense nothing," said Nimlas. "Perhaps the trees are simply restless because we have not had a night without stars for some time."

"No," said Galendur, "it is more than that, I am sure of it." The Elf's eyes glinted and he swiveled around suddenly. "Orcs!"

The cry was unnecessary, as the Orcs crashed towards the guards without a care for their noise. It was also too late: the enemy closed swiftly in on the three Elves and there was little hope of successfully fleeing. Drawing his long knife, Bardil thrust and parried. Their struggle was in vain---he knew this in some dim corner of his mind, as he slashed the throat of one Orc and dodged the blow of another. He saw Nimlas fall, clutching his shoulder, heard Galendur's rough-edged shout of "_Elbereth Gilthoniel!_" Perhaps if one of them could escape, run back to the stronghold and return with help for the others…but it was impossible, they were too thickly surrounded and it was only a matter of time…

Bardil's knife locked against the sword of an Orc, and he pushed against the creature with all his strength. So engrossed was he in his struggle that he did not notice the other Orc that came upon him from behind until it clubbed him over the head. Bardil swayed, the world spinning in dizzying circles around him, and he fell to his knees as his sight clouded. He tried to collect himself, but his mind spiraled wildly into oblivion and he knew no more.

:: :: :: :: :: ::

Near the stronghold, the Wood was peaceful and an ideal trysting place for the two lovers who talked beneath the darkening sky.

"Do you think we will ever be able to have children?" Nimwen was uncharacteristically sober as she spoke to her betrothed.

"'Never' is a long time," said Nendur lightly. "Our people have weathered worse than this. We cannot now, and will not for at least the next few centuries, but who is to say that the Shadow will never lift?"

"How can it?" Nimwen's voice rose, fierce and impassioned. "You see what is happening as well as I, Nendur. Our realm shrinks year by year, our warriors keep dying…we may even be overrun some day, for all we know." She stared at him, pleading wordlessly for an answer she knew he could not give.

Nendur was silent, and Nimwen thought at first that he was grieved by what she had said. But then she noticed that his eyes were fixed outwards, away from the stronghold. She followed his gaze and saw a group of warriors clustering together some distance away, at the very border where the woods began to grow dangerous. Narrowing her eyes, she saw them fighting, dancing away from the swords of the Orcs…

"Orcs!" she cried. Never before had Orcs come so close to the stronghold. Spiders, yes, but not Orcs.

"Many of them, more than I have ever seen at once," said Nendur, growing pale. "Too many. I am no soldier, but even I can see that those warriors are outnumbered."

"We must go for help!" Nimwen turned and ran to the caves, crying out in a shrill, keening voice, Nendur at her heels. "_Yrch, yrch!_ We are attacked! Help!" The two guards at the mouth of the caves heard them and ran towards the struggle, as did a few warriors who lived in cottages close to the caves. Nimwen and Nendur ran inside, still shouting, hearing distant battle cries from the outnumbered Elven warriors. Nendur paused to ring the large bell that hung in a nook just inside the cave, ringing it six times to signal that the attack was nearby. The deep, sonorous tones of the bell echoed through the stony passageways.

Elves poured out of their chambers. Legolas and two other captains ran to the mouth of the caves, Legolas barking "Go deeper inside, where it is safe! Go!" to Nimwen and Nendur as he passed.

"We should go," said Nendur, tugging Nimwen's arm. Throwing one worried glance behind her, she fled with him into the depths of the caves.

:: :: :: :: :: ::

"Elbereth," breathed Legolas, gazing at the Orcs swarming closer and closer to the stronghold. He turned to Thondil and Ereg, the two captains who had come outside the caves with him to assess the threat. "If each of us brings his entire patrol out to fight them, it may be enough."

"That would be ninety warriors," said Ereg. "The Orcs certainly number more than one hundred and fifty, and they are dangerously close. Perhaps we should keep another patrol waiting and ready to assist us, to be safe."

Thondil ran back to the caves to ring the bell, signaling the patrols to come. Legolas and Ereg followed him, going down to the armory to fill their quivers with arrows and then rushing back out again. By the time they arrived, their warriors were already there and awaiting orders.

The three captains held a quick council. "I will take my patrol straight ahead into the forest on the ground," said Legolas. "Thondil--"

"My spearmen will wait where the trees begin to thin for any Orcs that flee that way," said Thondil. "Ereg, your bowmen can cover Legolas's warriors from the trees, can they not?"

"Very well," said Ereg.

The captains gave the orders to their troops, and Mirkwood's warriors charged into the fray.

:: :: ::

When Lothwen Thranduiliel heard the chiming of the warning bell, she hurried into the corridor outside her chamber without thinking twice and made for the uppermost portion of the caverns. Lothwen, like the other Elves of the Wood, knew by necessity exactly what to do if danger struck too close. Warriors went to confront the threat directly if their captains so commanded it; healers fled to the very depths of the caverns to wait for the wounded. And those who were neither warriors nor healers hid along the passageways of the caverns, waiting to defend themselves in case the enemy entered the caves. This had never happened, but the Woodland Realm had not survived for so long by adopting an attitude of foolish optimism.

As the king's daughter, Lothwen felt it her duty to take greater risks than the other Elves did, and so she placed herself in a wide crevice close to where the caves opened into the outside world. She laid a hand on the hilt of her dagger and drew in a deep breath. There were some whose blood sang joyously in the heat of battle. Lothwen was not one of these. The slaying of enemies made her alternately nervous and nauseated. She was especially apprehensive now, as the bell had signaled that the Orcs were close by and that there were many of them. How many warriors had gone to out to fight the monsters? Was her brother among them? Her father, she knew, would be safe further down in the caverns, hearing reports from the scouts on the progress of the battle. And Queen Alphiel would be safest of all, with the other healers deep within the caves. But Legolas? He might be with Thranduil, or he might be out in the thick of the fighting. Lothwen felt her stomach twist within her and immediately diverted her mind.No wounded warriors had stumbled back to the caves yet; that was a good sign. This would soon be over, as it always was, and then ordinary life would resume.

:: :: :: :: :: ::

Legolas thrust his knife into the throat of one Orc and then whirled round to skewer another, the spurts of Orc-blood covering him with black droplets. They were many, the Orcs, but he could see that they had come from over the mountains and were unused to fighting amongst trees. Throwing a quick glance around, he saw that there were not more than twenty-five Orcs left; the rest were dead or fleeing. With a sigh of relief he threw himself back into the battle, slicing and hacking with his knife until he finally looked up and saw only Elves and no enemies.

Ereg dropped lightly from a tree branch high above. "No more left, hmm?" He grinned at Legolas and then grew serious. "I was concerned for a time," he said. "Never have so many Orcs come so close."

"Well, they are gone now," said Legolas, "and we must count our fallen and wounded."

"Come," said Ereg, and turned to call his warriors, but Legolas stopped abruptly where he was. "What is it?"

"Those Orcs came from over the mountains," said Legolas, his brow furrowing. "That means...that means that the path they took very likely led them to the warriors guarding Gollum. Ereg, the guards are in great danger!"

Ereg frowned. "Gollum? Oh, yes, the prisoner we keep for Mithrandir. Why would he and his guards be out of doors?"

"They sometimes take him out, and if they went where they usually do then they undoubtedly met the _yrch_. This is no time for talk, Ereg! We must go to their aid, though I fear it may be too late. Tathar, Luinmir!" Legolas named two of his warriors, calling them to him. He and Ereg gave quick instructions to their lieutenants and then they set off with Tathar and Luinmir to where they believed Gollum and his guards to be.

When they finally reached the spot their eyes met with a sorry sight. One Elf lay dead and another was pinned to a tree with arrows, his life's blood slowly seeping out of his body.

"Galendur!" Legolas cried, striding over to the dying Elf.

"Help…" Galendur croaked. He broke off, choking on his own blood and spitting it out. Then he seemed to summon every last grain of strength he possessed and spoke again. "Bardil…_yrch…_took Bardil…"

"I see the tracks where they dragged him," said Luinmir.

Galendur drew in a long, strangled breath, his face contorted with pain. Legolas pulled out a small, sharp dagger. It was clear from Galendur's wounds that the Elf was beyond all forms of help save one. "I shall ease your passing, if you wish," said Legolas gently. Galendur gave a short, thankful nod. Legolas thrust once with his dagger. Then it was done, and a spray of red blood shot out to mingle with black on his tunic.

Legolas stepped back, shaking almost imperceptibly. He felt Ereg's hand on his shoulder. "We must go after Bardil," Legolas said, keeping his voice even. "We cannot abandon him to a torturous death."

"Of course," said Ereg. "But…you cannot have failed to notice that Gollum must have escaped." He threw a glance at their surroundings. "He is nowhere near here."

"Yes," said Legolas, who had forgotten Gollum completely. "He has escaped, but we cannot go after him until we find Bardil."

"Yet…Gollum is a prisoner of some importance, is he not?"

Tathar frowned. "Surely you would not hold Mithrandir's prisoner more important than one of our people," he said, his voice tinged with accusation.

"I said not so, nor do I say it now," said Ereg. "Of course we must rescue him."

The four Elves followed Bardil's trail. It was a clear one: an Elf dragged through the dirt between two heavy-footed Orcs. Legolas wondered if Bardil had been aware of himself when the Orcs took him, and fervently hoped that it was not so.

At long last, after his mind had traveled well-trodden paths in imagining how the _yrch_ would treat their new Elven plaything, Legolas heard the guttural voices of the enemy. Immediately the four Elves melted into the trees and moved towards the sound.

Fifty Orcs sat in a circle, round a fire kindled from wood taken from living trees. Bardil lay slightly apart from their ring. Legolas stared at him, searching for the faint rise and fall of chest and shoulders that would mark him as alive.

Ereg, who was closest to the Orcs, leaned forward with narrowed eyes. Then he stood back, looked at Legolas and shook his head. He darted around the Orc circle to where Legolas was. "He is dead," said Ereg, his face grave. "And there are more Orcs than the four of us can defeat—we have little hope of retrieving his body."

"My heart burns to think of how the Orcs will defile it," said Legolas, blinking hard. Tears were of no use save to blur the sight and wet the bowstring. "But we have no choice."

"Let us call Tathar and Luinmir and be gone," said Ereg.

The Elves left their fallen countryman, making their way back to where the two other guards lay dead. Legolas was, in some secret and shame-ridden corner of his heart, grateful that Bardil had died before he was found. If Bardil had been alive, they would have had to slay him to prevent his torture at the hands of the Orcs; rescuing him alive would have been impossible when there were so many enemies to reckon with. And Legolas was relieved beyond measure to avoid another kinslaying in the same day. For kinslaying it was, and its necessity did nothing to ease its torment.

When they reached, Legolas squinted, staring at the ground. "These are not the marks of Orc feet, though they are among the footprints of many Orcs," he said. Ereg knelt by the marks in question.

"You think these marks belong to the escaped prisoner?"

"I do," said Legolas. "They certainly do not belong to the Orcs, at any rate."

"We should go after him, then," said Ereg. Involuntarily both captains glanced over to Tathar and Luinmir. All four Elves were heart-worn from the deaths they had witnessed this day, Legolas knew, and for their people grief of the mind caused weariness of the body. Yet Gollum could not vanish in their wood without a trace; if they began tracking him now, perhaps they might find him.

"Let us go," said Legolas, and once more the small band set out, Ereg and Luinmir on the ground and Legolas and Tathar peering overhead from the trees. Quickly they moved, hardly causing the branches to sway in their wake. The trees whispered to them as they passed, and the wind sang in their ears. Hours passed without rest or true meals, and so did days; Legolas was uncertain as to how many. Gollum's trail led them further and further south, until finally they reached that part of Mirkwood which was truly a perversion of Yavanna's gifts. Legolas felt his breath grow choked, heard the disharmony in the song of the trees, and felt the familiar grey touch of despair on his mind. The path they took grew increasingly circuitous, and the two Elves on the ground seemed to grow more perplexed by the minute.

Finally Ereg whistled a signal, and Legolas leapt from his tree. "I fear we have lost the trail on the ground," said Ereg. "And from the path it has taken, it seems likely it would lead to Dol Guldur. No one has gone there in centuries, and it is still an evil place…is this prisoner truly worth following?"

Legolas looked at Tathar and Luinmir, neither of whom had experience with the southern Shadow, taking in the brave tilt of Tathar's chin and the barely-hidden sorrow in Luinmir's eyes. He looked at Ereg and saw the other captain's weariness; he felt the grief that lurked in his own heart.

"Let us turn back," said Legolas.

TBC

**Original Character List: **(Look, Ma, more OCs!)

**Bardil:** one of Gollum's guards

**Galendur****:** one of Gollum's guards

**Nimlas****:** one of Gollum's guards

**Nimwen****:** Elf of Mirkwood, friend of Legolas and distant cousin to his family

**Nendur****: **Elf of Mirkwood, Nimwen's fianc

**Lothwen****: **daughter of Thranduil and sister of Legolas

**Alphiel:** queen of Mirkwood, wife of Thranduil and mother of Legolas

**Thondil****: **captain of Mirkwood

**Ereg: **captain of Mirkwood

**Tathar:** warrior of Mirkwood

**Luinmir:** warrior of Mirkwood

**Responses to Reviewers: **

**Daw**** the minstrel:** Oh, wow—thanks for the reviews, and the recommendation! I'm glad you like the way I've done Mirkwood—I tried to give several different POVs of it, from foreigners like Aragorn to people who live there, and I also tried to work with Tolkien's emphasis on compassion, so it's good to know that it came across.

**Ithilien****:** Thank you! Updates will be as fast as I can make them. This will mostly focus on the Elves, as Gollum-in-Mordor is too depressing even for me.

**Antigone**** Q:** Thanks! I tried very hard to make it in-character, especially for Aragorn, who I don't feel I really have a handle on, so I'm glad you liked the way it turned out.

**Brazgirl****: **Thank you very much! I'm glad you think it's original…when writing about Legolas there's always the risk of being hackneyed.

**Jilian**** Baade: **Thank you, and yes, it's too bad about the guards. Anyone who's read the books knows right from the start that they're cannon fodder.

**LOTRLover****:** I'm especially grateful you said you liked my OCs, because I was a bit worried about them, as there are so many.

**Enigma Jade: **Do I _mind_ being put on a favorite's list? Of course I don't mind! Thank you, and updates will be as soon as I can possibly manage.


	6. To Imladris

Chapter VI: To Imladris 

After he finished holding court, Thranduil brushed off his advisors, mounting a stallion instead and urging it to go as fast as if he were racing with the breeze itself. He needed motion—he craved the wind's whiplash on his face—he yearned to be in the midst of sweet overwhelming wildness. Worries burrowed like worms into the back of his mind. He needed fresh, sharp air and the pure song of the trees to clear his thoughts.

He had immediately sent some of his best trackers back to the dark places of Mirkwood, after Legolas and Ereg had returned with their warriors, to examine the area where the exhausted soldiers had given up the chase. The trackers had merely confirmed the captains' report: Gollum had disappeared, evidently having gone off in the direction of Dol Guldur.

Thranduil would not send his people into that evil place for the sake of Mithrandir's prisoner, no matter what darkness menaced Ennor, no matter what help the Istar and Elrond might be able to lend the Wood.

The aftermath of the creature's escape had been grim. Visions flashed before Thranduil's eyes—of the ashen face of Galendur's wife, who might not long survive her fallen mate; of Bardil's widowed mother who had not even her son's body to mourn over; of the family of Nimlas gathered round his funeral pyre. And of Legolas, pale and dull-eyed, telling Thranduil all that had happened.

Sometimes the Elven-king felt his mind slipping away from him, felt that he would lose it entirely if he heard another Elf keen in anguish, or saw another limp corpse. And yet Thranduil knew he would witness such grief for however long both he and his enemy endured, perhaps longer, for he knew too well that enemies came in all forms. He would see it and he would live on, continuing to shepherd his people, without the merciful blackness of death or insanity.

Not that he had been a very wise shepherd of late. He had agreed to harbor a foreign prisoner, and what happened? An attack on the Wood, disturbingly close to the stronghold, and three of his people dead.

Thranduil shook himself out of his despondent reverie. If he dwelt on every wrong he had done to his subjects he would be of no use to them. He turned his mind back to his immediate problem. Gollum had escaped, and had not been recaptured. Therefore, someone must be sent to Imladris to notify Elrond, and Mithrandir if he was there, of what had happened. Thranduil himself could not go—the everyday business of running a kingdom prevented it, and he was loath to leave his realm in the hands of another so soon after an attack. He knew of only one other person who could be sent, though he inwardly rebelled against the knowledge. It had to be someone who had acted as ambassador to Imladris before, who had spoken with Elrond and would be neither intimidated nor enraged by the _peredhel_—someone high-ranking enough and close enough to Thranduil to represent the Wood beyond its borders—someone who could be courteous yet dignified while bearing ill news and who would know how to tell the tale of Gollum's escape without making Thranduil's people appear incompetent.

Legolas was best qualified for this task, yet Thranduil balked at sending his son for reasons inexplicable even to himself. The road to Imladris was a dangerous one, but certainly less so than the south of Mirkwood, where Legolas had fought for many years. Still, Thranduil irrationally felt that his son was somehow safer within his borders than without. Foolish, of course, to feel that way. Such silly whims should not—could not—govern a besieged realm. A king could not send a lesser subject where he feared to send his own son. It had to be done, Thranduil knew.

He wheeled round on his horse and set out at a gallop back to the caves, lifting his head to the sky and feeling the wind swirl around his face. Dismounting and striding into the stronghold, he instructed a servant to send for Legolas and went to his study.

When Legolas arrived, Thranduil waved him into a seat and stared searchingly at him. Legolas was still pale, as he had been when he had first returned from the south. He had begun to recover, but having to end Galendur's life had unsurprisingly done him no good. "Are you well, Legolas?" Thranduil's voice was cool and imperious.

"Of course, my lord," said Legolas, meeting Thranduil's inquisitive eyes with an innocent look that the Elven-king had seen too often on the faces of too many warriors to trust. Thranduil inwardly groaned. Legolas had somehow managed to make the Elven-king's title sound like an insult, or an accusation—though of what, Thranduil did not know. Lothwen and Legolas sometimes took that tone with him---that defiant, defensive, resentful tone. Only sometimes, not always or even very often. But Thranduil did not know the best way to handle it, or indeed the reasons behind his children's attitude. Perhaps there was no reason. Perhaps it was merely Thranduil's imagination—when pressed, Lothwen and Legolas unfailingly said that it was. Thranduil thought otherwise, though. He knew it had something to do with the blurring of the lines between the roles of "king" and "father" that he played, though he could never understand more than that.

Thranduil sighed, and decided to avoid badgering Legolas with questions that his son would only avoid and get to the heart of the matter instead. "I am going to have to send you to Imladris, Legolas," he said. "Elrond and Mithrandir need to know what has happened to Gollum—and they also need to know that some of our people were lost in the keeping of their prisoner." Legolas nodded, unsurprised. "Take two or three people with you," Thranduil continued.

"Do you have anyone in particular in mind?"

"No," said Thranduil, "you may bring who you please." He smiled then—a quick-blooming, insolent smile. "Give Elrond my regards," he said.

Legolas grinned wickedly. "Certainly, Adar," he said. "I am sure he will _greatly _regret your not coming to speak with him in person, given the delight you take in each other's company."

Thranduil snorted. "Oh, yes, I never tire of conversing with Elrond. His attitude is so humble, and his manner so unpretentious."

"I am sure he could say the same of you," said Legolas with a sly glint in his eye.

"No one," said Thranduil with great dignity, "has ever accused me of being _pretentious._ Not even Elrond, and I have heard an entire litany of complaints from him. He even dared compare me to a mule the last time we spoke."

"Well," said Legolas fairly, "you have said worse about him, you must admit. Perhaps with better reason, and more accuracy, but with no less venom."

"True," said Thranduil with a smile. "But he is so stuffy and pompous and irritating that he truly deserves it."

"I will not argue with that," said Legolas with a laugh. "He looked askance at me the last time I went to Imladris, because I had brought some Dorwinion wine with me and shared it with our kindred there."

"You did not tell me about that." Thranduil drew his eyebrows together in mock severity. "The Imladris Elves cannot be as good at holding their wine as we are, Legolas. I hope you did not create any…disturbances?"

The impish look on Legolas's face left no doubt that 'disturbances' had, indeed, taken place, and Thranduil thought it best not to inquire too closely into their nature. He could not help but regret, however, that he had not been there to watch.

* * *

Legolas left his father and headed outside, to the blue glitter of the skies and the clarion song of the trees.

So he was to go to Imladris. Legolas silently cursed his luck.

He had never liked Elrond's little hamlet, truth be told. He had been there three times before, and at the end of each visit he and his mount had torn wildly out of the valley, as fast as the horse could go. Imladris was beautiful, to be sure—exuding a pure, calm intensity, perfectly safe, and possessed of all the comforts in the world. But there was something about it that was…_stifling._Everything there seemed painfully slow, still and unchanging.

Given what his father half-knew about the defense of Imladris and the power of its lord, perhaps that was not so unexpected. But that simply made Legolas shudder against it all the more.

Legolas turned his mind to practicalities. Who would he bring with him to Imladris? His father would fret if he went alone, Legolas knew, although any Wood-elven warrior was capable of taking care of himself. Still, it was always wiser to travel with companions. Tathar from his patrol would be a good choice, and would probably jump at the chance of seeing far-off places.

Bardil or Galendur would have been good choices…but Legolas diverted his thoughts immediately. Luinmir, too, could go with him. And Rohiril, who had been to Imladris with him before and who was accustomed to it. Three companions should be enough to soothe even Thranduil's worries.

Legolas caught sight of the flaming colors of the sunset, and turned backwards to the cave to join his family for evening meal.

* * *

"When are you leaving for the valley, Legolas?" Queen Alphiel smiled at her son from across the table.

"In a day or two, I hope," said Legolas.

"One of these days I hope to go there," said Alphiel. "I wish to see if the daughter of Elrond truly is the living likeness of Luthien, as your father tells me some claim."

Thranduil scoffed. "I have never seen her since she was but a babe, my love, but I greatly doubt it."

"I have spoken with her once," said Legolas, "and…she is not like the Luthien I have seen in the songs of Linhiril our minstrel. And if she, student of Daeron himself, cannot produce a likeness of Luthien, then no one can. The Lady Arwen is beautiful, certainly, but Luthien Tinuviel was a wild and untended rose, not a sheltered and tame garden flower."

Lothwen snorted. "What he means," she said, "is that Luthien most certainly did not walk about as stiffly as if she had a spear jammed up her backside." Legolas burst out laughing.

"_Lothwen__,_" said Alphiel reprovingly, yet obviously suppressing a smile. "You have seen her but once—and I doubt she had a favorable opinion of you, if it comes to that."

"No, indeed," said Lothwen. "How could she have a good opinion of a Mirkwood hoyden who runs about in breeches? The women in Imladris all trail gracefully in long robes—if they ever tried to move quickly they would trip and fall flat on their faces."

"The robes make them look beautiful, though," put in Legolas, mostly to annoy his sister. Lothwen threw him a scornful look, and he responded with a cheeky grin.

"Well," said Thranduil, "do not get too enchanted by their beauty. You will not be staying there long. I hope to see you home again soon."

TBC

**OCs****: **

**Bardil, Galendur, Nimlas: **Gollum's guards, dead.

**Tathar****, Luinmir, Rohiril: **Mirkwood warriors

**Lothwen****: **daughter of Thranduil, sister of Legolas

**Alphiel: **wife of Thranduil, mother of Legolas

**Linhiril****:** Mirkwood minstrel, formerly of Doriath, student of Daeron

**Responses to Reviewers: **

**Daw the minstrel: **Yeah, it was definitely a grim chapter--tough for me to write since I hatehatehate angst. I kind of wanted to save the guards, too, but stupid canon intervened.

**Brazgirl: **Thank you! I felt like leaving Thranduil's wife alive for some reason--maybe because everyone seems to kill her off or ship her to Valinor, so I wanted to try something else.

**Lamiel: **Thanks for reviewing! In the Unfinished Tales there are passages that seem to suggest that the Silvan elves spoke a different language from the Sindarin that would have been spoken in Rivendell, so I was going by that, though it's up for interpretation. And you caught a mistake of mine--I think of wood-elves as not using tack, too, and yet I had Lothwen using it. Um...oops? It's been edited, anyway. Thanks for pointing it out. And we will see Aragorn again in Rivendell.

**Ithilien: **Thank you! Yep, the penname comes from A Wrinkle in Time. And the story is pretty much going to follow Legolas from now on--it followed the OCs because they were Gollum's guards. I imagine elves are used to family members who are warriors being away for long stretches of time with no explanation, since elves can go for days without sleep or probably food, either.


	7. The Journey West

Disclaimer: All Tolkien's except the OCs and the rampant speculation.

* * *

Chapter VII: The Journey West

"Quiet!" hissed Luinmir, and Legolas fell back, silent. Luinmir stood absolutely still, obviously listening for something—Legolas knew not what, until he heard the faint but recognizable twitch of a spider's leg in a tree not far away. With one rapid motion Legolas drew and shot. From the sound of arrow meeting flesh, Legolas knew that his shot had gone into the spider's underbelly as intended.

"Come," he said, and he and Luinmir made their way back to their camp, watching the sun sink over the trees on Mirkwood's borders, its colors deep and blood-rich. They had been traveling for a few days short of a fortnight, and were now halting for rest upon reaching the western edge of the Wood.

Rohiril hailed them as they reached the camp. "Is there no danger, then?"

"None, save a stray spider," answered Legolas.

"That is good," she said, her dark eyes nonetheless darting to and fro in vigilance. "Our hunt was successful—Tathar is preparing the meal." She gestured over to where Tathar was bending over a campfire.

Legolas sat down and leaned against a tree trunk with a sigh. Drowsily he stared at the fire, keeping himself on the very edge of reverie, but without truly slipping into his dreams. He had perfected this knack in his long years fighting the Shadow, and he took a perverse delight in testing how close to the dream-world he could come before losing awareness of his surroundings.

A sharp noise jolted him back to the immediate reality. In a flash the four Elves were on their feet, arrows pointed in the direction of the sound.

"Worry not, my friends!" came a voice that was merry and yet foggy, as if the speaker's mind were somewhere else altogether.

"Radagast!" cried Legolas, rushing forward. The brown-clad Istar stumbled towards the Elves, beaming at them all.

"And it has been too long a time since I have seen you, son of Thranduil, or the King either!"

"Indeed it has," said Legolas warmly.

"And you, young Rohiril—how are you, and your honored foremother?"

Her answer was long, and made still longer by Radagast's persistent questions. Rohiril was of the Avari, and Radagast took a great interest in their doings. The Istar would be especially keen to hear of Rohiril's family, Legolas knew. For her oldest ancestress was one of the Elves who awoke at Cuiviénen ere the coming of Tauron, and knew the near-forgotten lore of the ancient Quendi.

"Our meal is near ready," said Tathar. "You must stay and eat with us, Radagast the Brown."

"With a good will," said Radagast heartily, and then added with haste: "No flesh meat, of course."

"Naturally," said Rohiril with a grin. "The forest here is fruitful and we gathered berries and roots as well as game, so you are fortunate."

They gathered round the fire to eat from the pot, jesting and reminiscing, for Radagast was an old friend to the Elves of the Woodland Realm.

"Where do you journey, Radagast?" asked Legolas. "Do you return to Rhosgobel?"

"Nay," said Radagast with a sigh. "I return nowhere. I come here to speak to a few of my creature friends, and then I move on to speak to others. Strange things are afoot, dangerous things, and I have little leisure in these troubled times."

Luinmir began to press Radagast for more news of these "strange things," but Radagast fended him off with vague answers, using many words to say very little. Legolas favored the Istar with a keen and thoughtful stare. Whatever troubled Radagast was likely to be somehow related, however distantly, to the cause of Thranduil's worries. A swift and quiet darkness was spreading through Ennor, no longer menacing just one land or the other. Legolas wondered if Radagast planned to share any knowledge of the Enemy's doings with Thranduil, and regretted that he was unlikely to have a chance to speak to the Istar alone to find out what he could. He comforted himself with the thought that Radagast was not Mithrandir and would likely tell Thranduil something, if not everything.

Of a sudden Legolas caught Rohiril's eye. The elf-woman was holding a squirrel, whispering in its ear.

Rohiril was gifted beyond measure in the care of horses, and because of that skill she was known to Mirkwood as _horse-mistress_, which was her usual occupation although she had skill with the bow. Yet with other beasts she also had skills that, while not as strong as her connection to horses, were still greater than those of most Wood-elves. Legolas knew that she could speak with creatures and learn from them nearly as well as the most talented of the Nandor. She was, he could tell from what he heard, using the creature to communicate with her family.

An innocent act, and yet Legolas could not help feeling uneasy about it. He was as certain of Rohiril's honor as of his own and knew she would do nothing unworthy. So why this suspicion?

_Perhaps, _Legolas thought suddenly, _Adar is using her to keep informed of my safety?_

That thought certainly made Legolas uneasy, yet as soon as he thought it he knew it was wrong. Rohiril would not consent to spying on a long-time comrade, even for her lord and king. Such deceit was beyond her, for her nature was as direct, as clear and as forceful as a swift, straight-flowing stream. And if Thranduil wished to be constantly aware that Legolas was safe, the Elven-king was well able to simply command his son to send messages through the creatures himself. Legolas could not communicate with them as well as Rohiril, but he was skilled in that art nonetheless. Thranduil had no need to resort to espionage, concealment and subterfuge.

So what, then, could account for his feeling of unrest? Rohiril's talents had never troubled him before. Legolas could find no reason for his worry, and dismissed it as best as he could from his mind. Yet he resolved to closely watch Rohiril's communications with the birds and the beasts nonetheless.

* * *

Radagast left them in the night, and for a few hours the Elves slept, taking the watch in turns. Then they moved on, crossing the Great River and beginning their climb through the Misty Mountains. The journey to Elrond's valley was an arduous one, particularly when going over the Mountains. But the Wood-elves dexterously avoided the gravest perils; they were beset by Orcs twice, but the Orcs were in small numbers both times, and the Elves overcame them without difficulty. 

In good time they were on the other side of the Mountains. The paths leading down into the valley were narrow, and stony and steep in parts, but Legolas and Rohiril remembered their way from past visits to their western kindred.

And so they traveled on, finding the way easy after the rough climb. At last they saw from a distance the beeches and oaks that peppered the valley of Elrond, and heard the soft far-off rustle of Elves about their business, and knew they were well nigh upon Imladris at last.

* * *

TBC

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating—Real Life plus Summer Laziness isn't good for fanfic. But expect the next update very soon, within the next few days—I'm looking to finish this story in the first week of September or so.

* * *

**List of OCs:**

**Luinmir**** and Tathar: **Elves of Legolas's patrol.

**Rohiril: **Mirkwood Elf of Avari descent

* * *

****

**Responses to Reviewers: **

**Daw**** the Minstrel: **Yes, I do see Thranduil's relationship with Legolas as complex--Thranduil himself is complex, after all, and I wouldn't call Legolas straightforward or simple either. And I like to think that Thranduil is mischievous. In _The Hobbit_ he seems to have a sense of humor and I just think anyone who likes Wood-elves has to have a streak of mischief in them. And yeah, I added the lines between sections--thanks again!

**Lamiel: **I had a tough time figuring out Thranduil's inner thoughts, so I'm glad you found them logical. I thought Legolas was annoyed because he thought Thranduil was going to be pushily and intrusively concerned for his well-being, but we were in Thranduil's head, so really it could be anything.

Do you consider your fics angsty? Because I read _In the Deep Places _(reviewed under the pen-name of Portia since I started it before I registered) and loved it. I guess what I don't like is gratuitous angst, where the author seems to be reveling in all the suffering and guilt and Elf-torture to the point where it gets self-indulgent. And it's tough for me to write angst because I'm scared of crossing that line.

**Brazgirl: **Yes, it's Dinner with the House of Thranduil! I figure Legolas will send a letter to Thranduil before he leaves with the Fellowship, but Thranduil will be worried nonetheless. And he'll soon have a war to deal with in his own kingdom. Poor Elven-king.

**The-burgler:** Sorry about the long wait! I'm really glad you're enjoying this, though, and thanks for coming out of the woodwork and reviewing!


	8. Maple Syrup

* * *

A/N: I'm so very sorry for the delay in the updates. School started, and a number of family issues arose, and made fanfic-writing (or reviewing, either—apologies to the authors I read) impossible for the last couple of months. But I'm back on the horse now, and will hopefully be regularly updating, though I can make no promises about deadlines. I _can _promise that this story will definitely be finished, and I have no intention of abandoning it. 

Chapter VIII: Maple Syrup

"Welcome, Legolas." Elrond turned elegantly from the bookshelf in the nook of his study, smiling at the Wood-elf.

"_Mae govannen,_" said Legolas, concealing his uneasiness. Elrond did not seem surprised to see him. That would not have been unusual, for Elrond was capable of keeping himself perfectly impassive. But the _peredhel_'s demeanor was not merely calm, or controlled. Legolas sensed something else, something tremulous and anticipatory and frightened all at once. "You have met the lady Rohiril," he said, gesturing to the Avari maiden, "and my other companions are Tathar and Luinmir."

A grave nod of greeting came from the _peredhel_. "Perhaps you would care to rest and refresh yourselves after your long journey. I trust it was as easy as could be expected?"

"Yes, and I thank you," said Legolas, "but we bear a most urgent message for you, Master Elrond, and it would be well if you heard it at once." Elrond raised a black eyebrow at Legolas's brusqueness, but remained silent. Legolas paused for a moment before continuing, choosing his words carefully. "Gollum attracted a large contingent of _yrch_ to the Wood. They arranged a two-pronged attack on us, striking our stronghold while sending a few of their number to help Gollum escape. The three warriors guarding the creature are dead." Elrond's face was as cool and calm as ever, and Legolas's hand fairly itched to box the _peredhel_'s ears. "Gollum has disappeared, but our trackers say he went into Dol Guldur. He must be with his old master by now."

"I see." Elrond sighed. "This is grievous indeed, and I am sorry to bring trouble to your realm, son of Thranduil." Elrond paused, toying with the binding of a book. "I thank you for informing me, for we had thought Gollum well-guarded—" _He _was _well-guarded, _thought Legolas savagely. "—and we must of course keep ourselves informed." Elrond fell silent once more, staring at Legolas with inscrutable eyes. "Legolas, are you able to stay for a few days more?"

Legolas, caught off-guard, answered, "If the need is great…yet we must return to the Wood swiftly, for we all have duties there."

"The need is most certainly great," said Elrond, fixing deep black eyes on the Wood-elf. "Three days is all I ask for. And, Legolas—I must ask you and your companions not to speak of Gollum's loss to anyone else here."

"Certainly," said Legolas stiffly. "But what is the purpose of our remaining here, if I may ask?"

For the first time that Legolas could remember, Elrond looked uncertain. "I do not know," he murmured, "I cannot tell. All I know is that you must be here for at least a little longer." He looked up. "There will be a council," he said. "And I must ask you to tell the tale of Gollum's escape there." The two Elves locked eyes. "You need only remain for a short while."

"Very well," Legolas said finally, after a long pause. "For a short while." And with bows and polite murmurs, he and his companions left Elrond's presence.

* * *

"Why do you suppose Master Elrond wants us?" Rohiril's eyes glittered darkly at Legolas. She, Tathar and Luinmir were all gathered in Legolas's chambers. "And why does he insist upon telling us nothing about his reasons?" 

"I dismissed the servants," said Luinmir, in response to Legolas's wary glance at the door. "No use having them pottering about, I know."

Legolas nodded his approval. "Still, it would be best not to speak too loudly, or too freely beyond the walls of our chambers. The Imladris Elves are of good will, but…" There was no need for him to finish; the others knew precisely what he meant, guided by their own innate Wood-elven suspiciousness. "I am inclined to believe Elrond," he continued. "I do not think he knows more than he tells us—or, at any rate, not much more. There are…strange things afoot. Radagast himself warned us, you know."

"Do you know what those things are?" Rohiril's gaze was firm and unblinking, and Legolas had to steel himself to avoid giving away what little he knew.

"No," he said. It was no lie, after all. All he had were vague fears and suspicions.

Tathar gave a great, gaping-wide yawn. "This place…the air here is so _thick_. I feel as though I am wading through oil," he murmured. "Is it always like this, Legolas?"

"All the times I have been here, yes," Legolas replied with sympathy. "Each breath one draws here is less free than the air of our Wood, shadowed though it be. But 'tis full of beauty nonetheless, so do not squander your time here complaining."

"The ellyth here seem to be full of beauty indeed," noted Luinmir, throwing a look out the window.

Tathar shook his head. "They are too slow and dithering for my liking."

"How can you judge? You have been here for less than a day," protested Legolas, though Lothwen's disparaging remarks about the Imladris women rang in his ears.

Tathar merely yawned once more. "Perhaps the air is not like oil," he mused. "Perhaps it is more like…maple syrup."

Rohiril snorted. "Or perhaps you simply think with your stomach," she said. "Maple syrup, indeed. Get you to Elrond's dining hall, my friend, before you begin comparing the walls of Imladris to cake slices and its master to a berry tart." The chamber rang with wild laughter, as the thought of Elrond sandwiched between slabs of dough was without a doubt too much for any creature to bear with a straight face.

"The dining hall," said Luinmir through his chuckles. "Now, that would not be amiss, after long weeks on the road." By common consent, the four Elves rose and left the chamber for their meal.

* * *

Elrond's hall was merry, his bards' music fine and his food delicious—although Tathar opined that his wine left something to be desired, and drew out a small flask of Dorwinion, to the delight of the Mirkwood contingent. True, an Imladris Elf named Falasion drank perhaps too much for one unaccustomed to Wood-elven wine, but let it not be said that the spirits of the four Mirkwood Elves were in any way burdened by this incident. 

After the meal, Legolas wandered outdoors, drinking in the heavy air of the valley. He felt sluggish and tired and unfocused; he knew not what Elrond wanted of him and, at this moment, he cared not. He lifted his face to the sky, bathing in the starlight that shone from out of the dull inky darkness. Perhaps he could forget his troubles in Elbereth's grace—or, failing that, he might at least feel able to grapple with them once more.

_Strange things are afoot._

So Radagast had said.

What things, and what was his part in them? Would he have no part? That would be unbearable—Ennor under siege and himself passive, quiescent, unable to raise a hand and fight.

_The need is most certainly great,_ were Elrond's words.

Whose need? And how was it to be fulfilled?

Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw other Elves basking in the silver of the night, strolling beneath the trees, singing softly to themselves. He saw Tathar and Luinmir swinging in the branches, and an earnest-faced Rohiril speaking to a squirrel—and why did that trouble him? He still knew not.

What was happening to Ennor?

Wood-elven practicality rose up in a tide within Legolas, overwhelming his questions and submerging his doubts. _What is happening will happen, without my worrying endlessly over it._ He stretched out beneath a beech tree and gave himself over to reverie, for a time leaving the honeyed yet haunted world of Imladris behind.

TBC

* * *

**List of OCs: **

**Tathar****, Luinmir: **warriors of Mirkwood in Legolas's patrol

**Rohiril**Mirkwood Elf of Avari descent

**Falasion** Imladris Elf of no particular consequence.

**Responses to Reviewers: **

**Daw**** the minstrel: **Rohiril, hmm? You'll see. And, yeah, Legolas bringing himself closer and closer to reverie is disturbing, and a bit drug-like.

**Brazgirl: **Legolas is paranoic but not entirely wrong. More than that I cannot say.

**Nimnen: **I'm glad you think the story flows well—I'm a bit concerned about that since I write one chapter at a time. It all makes logical sense in my head but it's hard making that clear to readers. I'm also really glad you think my Legolas and my Mirkwood Elves are believable and not trite. I like Mirkwood and can't stay away, so I have to try and make it as original as I can.

**Lamiel: **Glad you like the description. I keep trying to strike a balance between putting too much description in and making my story a laundry-list of events. And, yeah, I don't buy Legolas _talking_ to animals either. I think he understands them and can communicate with them much better than humans can, but for real talking I think the Nandor are the experts.

**The-burglar: **Yep, Radagast shows up after he meets Gandalf. I like Radagast a lot, so I found a way to work him in. And now it's the second-to-last week of October! Er…sorry?

**Sunn****-kissed: **Thanks for reviewing, and yeah, the deadline sort of got pushed back a little…or a lot…Fear not, though, there will certainly be an ending. And my Wood-elves are smart-alecky creatures, so the Mordor line basically wrote itself.

Next up: Council of Elrond chapter, its aftermath and the formation of the Fellowship. Much more eventful than this one, which is more of a connective.


	9. The Manners of Dwarves

Chapter IX: The Manners of the Dwarves 

Two days at Imladris passed, smooth and liquid as a drop of warm honey, as time always passed in the valley. Legolas spent the time in forced indolence. There was nothing to do but join in the singing, dances, and games of the Imladris Elves.

Ordinarily, Legolas would have been delighted with this situation. He would have rejoiced in lifting his voice in a hymn to Elbereth, or a ballad of Tauron and his exploits, or in teaching the Imladris Elves a raucous hunt song. He would have loved to leap and whirl in a swift but graceful dance, or to lie back and watch the Elf minstrels weave myriad notes into life-like pictures of ancient heroes. He would have enjoyed laughing with mischievous glee as he and his Mirkwood comrades drank the Imladris Elves under the table of Elrond's hall.

Instead he was..._twitchy_. Nervous. There was always a vague uneasiness lurking in the back of his mind.

Legolas, of course, knew exactly what was behind this feeling: Elrond's cryptic request for the Mirkwood contingent to stay. In stray moments, when he was not actively distracted by the antics of the other Elves, Legolas imagined every possible reason Elrond could have had for doing such a thing, each reason more implausible than the one before.

_Strange things are afoot._

The darkness tainting Ennor would reach him, too—perhaps had already reached him.

He shook his head, sending coppery locks flying every which way, shaking off sticky cobwebby thoughts. He would go for a walk.

Yes, that was a good idea. A walk through the forest, perhaps near some cool stream water, would clear his head. Legolas strode purposefully off, finding himself next to a brook that trickled softly through a glen.

Rocks were piled there, one atop the other, a craggy heap thrusting out of the soft greenery of the grass and gentle clarity of the water. An artist's hand had arranged them; no natural configuration was so symmetrical. Indeed, the whole glen spoke of Elven taste, care and nurturing. Even the blades of grass seemed to line up in smooth precision. The song here was regular, controlled. Legolas felt like a disharmonious note in a perfectly planned symphony, and on an impulse he reached out a long leg kicked at the pile of stones, knocking some of them over.

It was a spectacularly stupid thing to do.

"Aaahh!" cried a gruff voice on the other side of the stone pile.

"I beg your pardon!" said Legolas, cursing himself. In his absorption he had not heard the creature's breathing or caught its scent. "You are not harmed, I hope?"

"No thanks to you!" snorted the creature, raising his head and revealing himself as a Dwarf with a full blue beard. "Ah, well, no harm was done. Though I have been told that Elves can smell you from a kingdom away, so how did you come to believe there was no one behind the pile?" The Dwarf seemed miffed but not belligerent.

"I was lost in thought, Master Dwarf, so that may be why. But seeing that you enjoy hiding yourself in nooks and corners, perhaps you should bedeck yourself with flowers so that no Elf could miss your scent."

The Dwarf snorted, the look on his face revealing that he did not know if Legolas was joking or not. Legolas recalled some of Lothwen's comments on Dwarven humor, or lack thereof, and stifled a grin. "I am Gimli, son of Gloin," said the Dwarf, and then added "at your service" as if he wished he did not have to say it.

"Legolas, son of Thranduil, at yours and your family's," he said, remembering what he knew of Dwarven manners and wondering how this Gimli would react to Thranduil's name.

"Thranduil!" said Gimli. "The Elven-king of Mirkwood!"

Legolas wondered if all Dwarves had this penchant for stating the obvious. "Yes," he said briefly.

"Well," sniffed Gimli, "all I can say is that it is a mercy Lord Elrond is not in the habit of throwing Dwarves in dungeons, or else you and I would not be having this very pleasant talk."

Legolas was unsurprised. Dwarves were prone to bearing grudges. "I believe you meant to say 'tis a mercy you did not trample uninvited into Elrond's realm, raising a ruckus and disturbing a celebration."

"I will not stay and bandy words with Thranduil's puffed-up spawn," said Gimli huffily. As he rose, he continued, "Rivendell crawls with unseemly creatures—arrogant Men, and ridiculous halflings, and these dratted Elves with bad manners…"

"Your manners, on the other hand, are an example to all the free peoples of Middle-earth." Legolas was enjoying himself. If he must stagnate in Imladris, it was as well that there were Dwarves about that he could bait.

"Hmmph!" said Gimli, his face reddening. He turned round and stomped off, muttering under his breath about Elvish impertinence.

Legolas laughed softly to himself, feeling lighter and freer than he had in days. The exchange with the Dwarf had served as a needed release; he had been growing tense, brooding, and anxious, perhaps taking Elrond's words too much to heart. _But Adar is worried as well, and so is Radagast…_

What was is the Dwarf had said, about 'arrogant Men' and 'ridiculous halflings'?

Men he had seen in Imladris, tramping about the valley. But halflings? Legolas had not seen a halfling since the Battle of the Five Armies. And unless he was much mistaken, Elrond had little reason to be hobnobbing with the halflings, either.

What could halflings be doing in Imladris?

The last time a halfling had become involved in Elven affairs, a war had broken out between Elves, Men and Dwarves. The creatures were almost the stuff of legends, with some mistakenly believing they did not exist.

"Legolas," said a smooth voice, jolting Legolas out of his reverie. He looked up to see a dark-haired Elf clad in elegant robes. "I bring a message for you, from Lord Elrond. He asks you to be present at a council that is to be held later this morning."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "This morning?"

"I am sorry for the short notice, but this is a secret council, and Lord Elrond wishes as few people as possible to know of it. I must ask you not to speak of this to anyone else.

Legolas did not reply, knowing full well that he would be telling his Woodland

companions of this as soon as the opportunity arose. As the other elf spoke of when and where the council would be held, Legolas felt a sense of relief. He knew, with the swift and sure instinct of the Quendi, that this council would address the questions he had harbored since the arrival of Gollum in the Woodland Realm. And yet he could not completely shake his anxiety. Something told him the answers would be darker and more fearsome than the uncertainty had been.

**Responses to Reviewers: **

**Daw**** the minstrel: **I suspect the Wood elves would be irritated by the sheltered Imladris ones. And Tolkien himself says they grew suspicious after years fighting the Shadow.

**The burglar: **Thanks. Pacing is something I worry about. Too fast and it's unrealistic. Too slow and it'll bore the readers to tears.

**Brazgirl**Thanks. I figured Legolas and his buddies would have lots of opinions on the differences between Rivendell and Mirkwood elves.

**Lamiel** Wood-elves are fun to write because of the humor you can bring in. They're less stately and grand and doomed. And I'm glad you liked my interpretation of Elrond's foresight. I was trying to get across a sort of foresight without omniscience, like he can see that something's coming but he doesn't know precisely what.

**Antigone**** Q: **Thanks a lot. You'll have to wait for next chapter for the Council, I'm afraid. It's too long to fit here!


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